


Pas de Deux

by sebastian2017



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Ballet, Ballet Dancer Natasha, Dancing, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, ballet dancer bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebastian2017/pseuds/sebastian2017
Summary: Steve's used to a life of observing. More often than not, he's too sick to participate. It's not so bad. He'd learned to draw instead and brings beauty to the world in his own way. And observing's not so bad with subjects as handsome as Bucky.Too bad Bucky won't have any of that and keeps insisting anyone can dance, even Steve. Which is... ambitious, if Steve had to describe it.





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

> Why does Natasha have her own dance company with lax rules? idk let's suspend our disbelief :') also I didn't add accents to the ballet terms because I'm lazy and I am.... slightly apologetic
> 
> Written for Marvel Bingo 2019.  
> Square N3: Free
> 
> CW: alcohol mention, negative self image, slightly ableist comments

Steve has always loved dance. He finds it absolutely breathtaking, in more ways than one. The artist in him always marvels at the beautiful elegance of movement and sound joined together in such a way. The part of him that always wished to have a functioning body admires the pure athleticism of dancers’ bodies as they make their movements seem easy. If he’d been a healthy child, stronger and not constantly in hospitals and doctors visits, Steve thinks he might have taken up dancing. It always seemed to hold far more appeal than baseball or football or anything else boys on his block liked. Then again, maybe Steve had just never learned to think like the other boys on his block because of how very different he’d always been. 

 

Regardless, it doesn’t matter much anymore. Steve’s not a child anymore. He’s a grown man                 now and he won’t be going to any after school practices or rehearsals. He’s happy with the life he has. He might not have trophies or recitals on home video, but somewhere along the way, he’d found his own way to make art, to bring beauty into the world. Painting and drawing and sculpting and textiles. If it was beautiful and didn’t involve straining his body and lungs, Steve had probably grown attached to it as a child. He’s a lucky man. Most people don’t end up working doing what they love, especially after falling in love with the arts, but Steve has managed to make a living out of it. He knows to be grateful for it, but on occasion, he can’t help but wonder about the things he’s missing out on. 

 

Lately, Steve’s been doing a lot of wondering. It’s useless to dwell on things that can’t be changed. His mother had taught him that. Steve is usually pretty good about this sort of thing, but this time, it lingers. He thinks about it anytime he’s distracted, his warm up sketches at work are delicately posed dancers, he follows a handful of dance companies on Instagram, he attends a few shows in the city. After a few weeks of the thoughts not going away, Steve does what he’s always done when he longs for something out of reach. He draws. Most serious pieces Steve does these days are for work, but he still finds time on weekends to squeeze in a passion project. Now Steve is just in need of a model. 

 

There’s plenty of pictures and videos online, of course, but nothing compares to a live person in front of him. When he’d gone to see performances, Steve had thought many times how wonderful it would be to have some place to sketch while they dance. That’s how Steve ends up scrolling through his email one Saturday night, wondering if there’s any favors he might be able to call in. Steve’s in the habit of doing pro bono design work on the side, meaning he has plenty of favors to call in. (Not that he does so with any sort of regularity. He likes to offer his help in any way he can because it’s the right thing to do, not because he might get something in return.) 

 

He has to dig around for a bit, but he finds the contact information for a ballerina he’d helped with concept art for a playbill. He types up an email to her, edits it about a dozen times, then sends it just before falling asleep so he won’t have to think about it for a few hours. 

 

_ Ms. Romanoff, _

 

_ Hi! This is Steve Rogers. I made the cover art for one of your shows’ programs a few months back. I hope this isn’t in poor taste, but I’m working on a new project focused on dancers in motion, and I was wondering if you might have some dancers willing to model for me, or a few rehearsals I might be able to sit in on. I would be eternally grateful and credit your company anywhere the pieces might be published, of course.  _

 

_ Best, _

 

_ Steve Rogers _

  
  


\------

 

Somehow, despite having been the one to first reach out to Natasha, he’d somehow not expected very much when doing it. Maybe a part of him had wanted her to never reply or to apologize, but explain that they couldn’t accommodate him, since it gave him a perfect excuse to stop thinking about all this and instead focus on his actual work. Unfortunately, he’d been rather foolish to ride so much on this assumption, because Natasha had replied all too quickly with a schedule of rehearsals he was more than welcome to observe. 

 

And what was Steve supposed to do after that? He’d agreed and made plans to go, of course. His first day at the studio is mildly terrifying. There’s something about being surrounded by tall, beautiful people that is incredibly intimidating. Steve had long ago made peace with his height and build, but being around a troupe of professional dancers is certainly a good reminder of it. He spots Natasha in a corner of the studio lobby, recognizing her from their previous work together, and he rushes over, eager to speak with someone he sort of knows. 

 

“Natasha! Steve Rogers,” he introduces, reaching forward to shake her hand. It’s a silly formality, considering they’ve met in the past and were recently exchanging emails, but it feels impolite not to. “Thank you for letting me come by today. You said rehearsal starts at 2?” 

 

“It does. You got here at a good time. You said you just want to sit and observe, yes? I can go set you up in the studio. We don’t really have a desk to take in there, but if you’d like a chair, I’m sure we can find one,” Natasha offers. 

 

Steve shakes his head. “I’m perfectly fine sitting on the floor. A bit more rustic. Gets the creativity started, you know?” 

 

“Hmm. Not particularly, but sure. Let’s go find you a well lit corner then,” she says.

 

Natasha gestures for him to follow, which he hurries to do. He’s always been a bit awkward around girls, but Natasha, at least, seems like the sort to make anyone a bit awkward around her. Not that Steve finds it a negative thing, it’s just hard not to be intimidated by the confidence and power she radiates. While she changes into her ballet slippers, Steve takes off his shoes and leaves them tucked away near a bench to retrieve when they’re done. It’s a spacious studio and beautifully lit by large windows along the upper half of the walls, so it’s no trouble at all to find a corner where Steve can sit and get a good view of the dancers and his sketchbook. 

 

“I’ll make sure no one comes and tramples you,” Natasha promises, with the sort of smirk that might worry Steve, if it weren’t already too late to turn back about this whole thing. 

 

After getting settled, Steve spends a few minutes getting warmed up, just doodling silly little things along the page. The dancers are starting to stream in as he does and, already, there’s a few Steve has his eye on to watch while they dance. They’re all beautiful and Steve is sure anyone in this room would make a wonderful model for his paintings, but there’s a certain spark to some of them that simply can’t be manufactured. There’s a handful he tracks with his eyes as the music starts and they go through their opening plies and tendus and port de bras combinations. By the time they’ve reached their variations and start rehearsing what Steve assumes must be the actual performance, there’s one dancer in particular he just keeps coming back to. 

 

He can’t really say what it is about him that is so magnetic to Steve’s eyes. He’s attractive, of course, but so is everyone in the room. There’s a sort of elegance to the dancer,a uniquely delicate masculinity radiating off him as he moves about the room. Not just his movements, but the lean, handsome body almost seems to be in jarring contrast to the long hair he has tied back in a careful bun. Now that he thinks of it, Steve isn’t sure he’s ever seen a male dancer with long hair, and once he’s thought of that, Steve finds it hard to look away. 

 

The sketches that find themselves on Steve’s page are mostly of that man. Nothing is very well developed at all. It’s nothing but rough ideas on paper, movements half captured before he moves on to something else. He doesn’t really know what he wants the final product to be, so for now, he simply lets every half formed thought find its way on the page. The rehearsal time goes by very quickly, or perhaps Steve had just been quite adequately distracted by his work. He decides to linger a bit, finishing up the page he’s on and packing up properly while dancers stretch and filter out of the room. He’s in no hurry. It’s not as though he’s going to mingle with anyone. 

 

When he’s finished, he stands to leave and notices the long haired dancer is still there, practicing some impossible looking turns and jumps in the corner by himself. Steve suddenly feels quite awkward, being just the two of them here and he’d not even noticed. He’s not sure what would be worse. Leaving without saying a word or lingering so he looks like some sort of creep. In the end, Steve’s nervous hands take so long packing up his things that Dancer Man is done and heading out before Steve does. 

 

“Last one out gets the lights,” Dancing Man calls to him. He winks in his direction and Steve isn’t sure how anyone is meant to survive that. 

  
  


\--------

 

It goes like that for a few weeks. Steve will go in for the rehearsals he can make with his work schedule, he’ll get there early, settle in his corner, spend the rehearsal sketching, and then leave either just before or just after the dancer he’s been sketching over and over since getting here. Steve is  _ not  _ a stalker, but he does like to be informed, so he’d gone on the company’s website and found that the dancer’s name is James. It feels only slightly less creepy to keep drawing him now that he has a name to associate him with. 

 

Perhaps Steve was optimistic to think they could continue this sort of relationship forever, of being near each other so often, yet never actually talking. At the end of his third week sketching the company, Steve doesn’t pack up quickly enough - or perhaps he packs up too quickly - and as he’s slinging his bag strap over his shoulder, James eyes him curiously from where he’s rolling out his calves and actually stands to approach him, instead of the polite ignoring they’d been doing so far. 

 

“Always the first one here and last to leave. We should add you to the company roster,” James teases, grinning as he approaches. 

 

“Oh. Well, uh, it’s just… I get here early to get a good spot without interrupting. And then by the time I’m all packed up, well, everyone’s mostly gone by then,” Steve says. His palms have grown embarrassingly clammy and he does quick work of wiping them off on his jeans.  

 

James just laughs. “It wasn’t an accusation, man. Stay as long as you want. Us dancers are attention whores, didn’t you know?” 

 

“Oh. Well… that’s a good combination to work with me,” he agrees. Steve stands still and quietly awkward for a moment before extending his hand towards James. “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.” 

 

“Pleased to meet ya, Steve Rogers. I’m James. James Buchanan Barnes, if we’re doing the full name thing, but everyone calls me Bucky. Less of a mouthful.” James - Bucky, apparently - winks at him. 

 

“Bucky. Well… It’s nice to meet you, Bucky. I’m no dance expert, but you look really good out there.” Is that too flirty? Steve hopes not. He doesn’t want to go around assuming every male dancer is queer in some sort of way. Besides, he’s never been the type to flirt with strangers. Really. 

 

“Not an expert?” Bucky repeats, laughing. “You’re here more than some of our actual dancers. I think at this point you could join in and do all the choreo.” 

 

“I’m… not so sure about that.” He laughs awkwardly, eyeing the doorway. Bucky’s nice and all, but Steve’s never taken too kindly to people pretending he can do anything if he just sets his mind to it. He’s had enough inspiration porn forwarded to him by aunts and elderly neighbors. 

 

“Hmm. I guess I should be heading out,” Bucky says, like he’s read Steve’s mind. (Or, more likely, his not so subtle body language.) “I’ll see you around here. Take care, Stevie boy.” 

 

Bucky picks up his foam roller and strolls out, like he hasn’t just Steve to stand there, horribly unsure of what to do with himself. He should be very annoyed with being called ‘Stevie boy’, just like he should  _ not  _ have a silly sort of crush on Natasha’s employees, but when they look like Bucky, who can blame him? Actually, looking like Bucky, they’re probably allowed to call him much worse than Stevie boy. Steve stands uselessly in the middle of the studio for another minute before reminding himself that he’s almost thirty and standing awestruck by a particularly handsome man is something best saved for teenagers. He’ll just go home. Go home and draw for a few hours until he forgets all about this. 

 

Of course, drawing isn’t very useful when all his sketches end up being of Bucky. 

  
  


\---- 

 

Perhaps it was too much to ask that they continue like that, exchanging glances when they’re the last two in the studio and the occasional banter or request to lock up before leaving. Steve can be good at that pattern. He’s gotten used to it. So, of course, Bucky changes it up without warning on an otherwise completely normal Thursday afternoon. 

 

Rehearsal has finished and Steve is finishing up his last sketches before packing up, as he always does. Bucky lingers after everyone else, also the norm. Usually, though, it’s because he wants to practice variations or have a long stretch. Today, though, he leaves the barre and foam roller untouched and walks over to Steve’s corner, instead. 

 

Steve glances up at him and frowns slightly. “Oh. Um. Do you need the studio to yourself? I’ll be out in just a minute.” 

 

“No, actually,” Bucky laughs, charming and shy, and rubs the back of his neck. “Actually, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go get a drink or something.”

 

“A… drink?” Steve repeats. 

 

He nods. “Yeah. There’s a nice little bar about a block away and I’d really like to take you over and buy you a drink. Like a date. Or if you don’t want to go on a date, then at least a chance to buy you a ‘sorry I asked you on a date, won’t happen again’ apology drink.”

 

Steve is not used to this. At all. Handsome dancers aren’t the sort of people who go out for drinks with people like Steve. If they were, Steve might have jumped the gun and asked himself. He’s not a total idiot, though. He knows not to just pass up the chance, even if the whole thing might end up being just a joke. Steve nods as he puts away the last of his pencils. “That sounds really great, Buck. Do you need to change?” 

 

“Nah. The bartenders there are used to sweaty dancers in sweatpants.” Bucky laughs. 

 

They head out of the studio together, pausing briefly to put their shoes on. The bar really is nearby, which is a good thing, because Steve is just about the worst New Yorker in the world when it comes to walking places. He’d love to, but his asthma usually disagrees. And even when he does walk, it’s at a pace that even a snail, if it was raised in Brooklyn, could outpace. Bucky says nothing about it, just slowing down to walk next to Steve, and thankfully, they arrive quickly enough that he doesn’t have time to get annoyed about it. 

 

Bucky holds the door open for him and leads them to a quiet booth in the corner. He moves about with the ease of someone who’s been here many times before and almost immediately, grabs the menu to let Steve know what the best cocktails here are and which of the local beers are worth the higher price tag. Steve doesn’t drink often, seeing as it takes an embarrassingly small amount to get him drunk, so he figures he might as well try some beer that claims to be from Brooklyn. Might as well represent his burough on one of the handful of times a year he drinks. Bucky grins, like he’s made a good choice, and goes to the bar to place their order. 

 

When he comes back, he slides in closer to Steve, so their thighs are touching. “I take it you’re a Brooklyn boy?” 

 

“Born and raised,” Steve confirms. “What about you?” 

 

“Oh, I’m a Brooklyn boy, too. That’s why I’m the most handsome man at the company. Everyone knows Brooklyn boys do it better.” Bucky smirks and winks at him. It gives Steve the feeling that he’s done this many times, taken people out for drinks and charmed them and taken them to bed and then forgetting all about them. Somehow, Steve is still terribly caught up in it. “So, tell me, how’s a pretty Brooklyn boy like you end up watching instead of up on a stage?” 

 

Steve snorts under his breath. He knows, of course, that Bucky is just flirting and flirting always involves saying a few ridiculous things, but this one is particularly ridiculous. “I don’t exactly look like a leading man. I never could dance. Or play sports or anything like that. It’s how I wound up drawing.” 

 

“Can’t dance?” Bucky scoffs. “Everyone can dance, Steve. Don’t be silly.”

 

“Well, I never could. Spent half my childhood in and out of hospitals for just about anything you can think of. Bad ear, bad heart, bad lungs, bad back. I think I would have missed half the classes even if I’d gotten medical clearance for it.” Steve shakes his head. He probably shouldn’t have mentioned so much. He’s accepted it long ago and his body’s needs and limitations are just as much a part of him as anything else, but he knows people tend to get uncomfortable about it. 

 

Their beers get delivered to the table then and Bucky passes Steve his bottle, letting their hands touch far more than is strictly necessary. “All right. We don’t gotta talk about it if you’d rather not. Tell me about your art. I figure you must be pretty good, yeah?” 

 

“I guess it depends what you mean by good.” Steve shrugs. “I work with comics. That’s how I pay my rent and all that. But I still have time for the occasional side projects.” 

 

“Is that what this is? A side project? Or should I expect a riveting comic about a ballet dancer by day, crime fighting vigilante by night?” Bucky smirks. 

 

Steve laughs softly and pulls out his sketchbook to show Bucky a few pages from it. “It’s a side project, though that sounds like a great idea for a comic. I’ve always enjoyed watching dance, even if I couldn’t do it myself, and I’d been thinking about it a lot these last few weeks, so I decided to work on a few pieces of bodies in motion.” 

 

Bucky looks through the pages in silence for a few moments, leaning in close to the pages, though he’s careful not to smudge anything. “Is this me?” he asks, pointing to one of the figures, as though there’s many other male dancers with hair long enough to put up in a bun. 

 

Steve flushes pink, embarrassed as he always is when someone sees he’s been drawing them. “It is. You’re a very… fascinating model. None of the other guys have long hair, so you make for a really wonderful contrast.” 

 

“Yeah, Nat’s always been cool about letting me have my hair however I want. It just has to be put up during rehearsal. Would you ever like to see me dancing with it down? Is that something you might enjoy to sketch?” he offers. 

 

There’s really no point pretending otherwise, so Steve nods. “That would actually be fantastic.”

 

“It can’t be during rehearsals, but maybe… are you free on Sunday?” Bucky asks. “I can get us the studio for ourselves and I’ll dance around with my hair down for you.” 

 

“Really?” Steve grins at him. “I would love that!” 

 

They iron out the last few details of their Sunday meet up and then spent the rest of the time just chatting about anything that crosses their minds. There’s a lot of conversations about growing up in Brooklyn, wondering how they’d lived so close without ever crossing paths and sharing their favorite local spots that haven’t been gentrified quite yet. Steve is surprised how much he enjoys their time together, considering even as they’d walked in, he hadn’t been sure that this wasn’t all some elaborate joke. 

 

Bucky accompanies him back to his apartment at the end of the night, like some sort of gentleman from the 40s and 50s, and kisses him goodnight, and Steve is very glad he’d decided to reach out to Natasha to observe her rehearsals. 

 

\----

 

Somehow, Sunday comes both far too quickly and not quickly enough. Steve’s looking forward to it, of course, but he can’t help but worry that Bucky will change his mind or decide at the end of it all that he actually doesn’t want to spend more time with the sad, creepy artist that sits in quietly on so many rehearsals to draw strangers. Steve gets no cancellation texts from Bucky, though, and Sunday morning, they meet at the studio, just like they’d planned. Bucky is already waiting for him when Steve arrives and he grins as he waves him over. 

 

“Hey, Stevie. Did the MTA treat you well on your trip here?” he asks, unlocking the studio for them both and holding the door open for Steve. 

 

Steve laughs. “As well as the MTA treats anyone, I guess. Thanks for meeting with me. I think I might finally know what I want the end painting to actually look like.” 

 

“Trust me, with how vain I am, you’re doing me the favor, getting up all early to draw my pretty face,” he teases. Bucky winks at him and then sits to do quick work of putting his dance shoes on. “So what happens when you’re done with your painting? You get it hung up at the MOMA, stop coming to rehearsals, and forget all about us little guys?” 

 

“If only. Nah, it depends how good it is, I guess. For starters, I’ll finally stop thinking ‘bout it, so I’ll get a bit of sanity back. And other than that? Well, I dunno. Maybe hang it up at my house? Give it to a friend? Shop it around online? Who knows. Trust me. Guys like me don’t get museum galleries, we have lots of fun at our comic jobs we were lucky to get and pursue personal projects for the fun of it on the side,” Steve explains. 

 

Bucky scoffs. “I think you could probably get into any museum in the world if you really wanted to. But hey, hanging up a nice portrait of me in your house sounds like a good time, too.” 

 

“Don’t get too cocky. I could still decide to go with something else,” he warns. 

 

Bucky overplays his outrage at that and Steve just ignores it except to laugh, which he does plenty as he sits down and pulls out his sketchbook. This comes easy with Bucky. Sometimes it feels like they’ve known each other forever, with how easy the joking and teasing comes. Steve has some actual lifelong friends that aren’t as easy to spend time with. Bucky warms up and stretches while Steve gets set up, and he resists the urge to capture the moment. He looks beautiful like this, with the way his body stretches impossibly far, muscles trembling beneath his skin, his hair falling freely over his face and shoulders. It would be a wonderful image to capture, but Steve isn’t trying to come off like too much of a creep. He’d very much like to do this again and not have Bucky always remember him as the skinny Brooklyn guy who’d stared while he stretched. 

 

“Ready for me, Stevie?” Bucky asks, winking at him.

 

On second thought, Steve could have stared as long as he’d wanted. He nods. “Go ahead and wow me.” 

 

Bucky laughs and starts some music on his phone before he dances. Steve isn’t sure if it’s something he’s rehearsed before or if he’s making it up as he goes along. Even if Bucky’s practiced this a million times before, it wouldn’t be any less impressive. There’s a, quite frankly, ridiculous amount of turns and jumps and Bucky’s always looked good in rehearsals, but there’s something breathtaking about seeing him perform alone. There isn’t a spotlight, but Steve’s mind supplies it, shining down on Bucky as he makes his every move seem effortless. Just as he’d thought, it looks even more stunning with Bucky’s hair let down. 

 

Steve can understand why it has to be put up most of the time. There’s a beautiful novelty to it, but it would be impractical for every day. Too much chance of it getting in the way or simply becoming uncomfortable. But right now… Steve wishes Bucky never had to put it up. It enhances everything. Bucky dancing is already a wonderful show of contradictions. His boyish good looks as he performs something so ‘femenine’, the way his movements seem so effortless, despite being a very obvious test of skill. Now there’s Bucky’s long hair framing his sharp jaw and handsome face. Steve’s hands move almost on their own and it’s still not fast enough. Steve wants to record it all, store it for later and get the chance to pause and rewind and zoom, so he doesn’t miss a single detail. 

 

He probably could. Bucky would agree, he’s almost sure. But Steve doesn’t want to stop, even to pull his phone out and get himself footage for later. He’s too enthralled. Steve can’t say how long Bucky dances for, but when he stops and goes to sit down next to Steve, he’s out of breath and sweaty. Steve’s never been one to find sweaty men attractive, but Bucky might just change his mind. 

 

“How’s it coming along? Get a good wave of inspiration?” Bucky asks, peering over Steve’s shoulder at the sketchbook. 

 

“Oh, definitely. You’re… You’re gorgeous, Buck. You know that? Always, but when you’re dancing… it’s really something else,” he tells him, hoping his shyness won’t make it seem any less genuine. “I think we might do this again so I can get it on video. If that’s something you’re comfortable with, I mean. I just… I want to get all the details right.” 

 

“Hey, like I said, I’m vain. I’m more than comfortable with that.” Bucky laughs, standing up again and reaching his hand down to Steve. “Looks like you can call it a day for now. Yeah?” 

 

“Uh… I guess? Did you have something in mind?” Steve asks. He closes up his sketchbook, putting his pencils and charcoal away properly and then taking Bucky’s hand and help in standing up. 

 

“Figured we’d dance together,” Bucky says, pulling Steve out to the middle of the floor. 

 

Very slowly, Steve repeats, “Dance together.” 

 

“Yeah. Dance together. I’m speaking English, ain’t I? Not some crazy sort of alien language?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket to start playing music again and then tosses it off to the side. 

 

“Bucky. I can’t dance,” Steve reminds him. 

 

“Anyone can dance, Stevie. Here. I’ll help you. Be your barre and all that,” he says, positioning the two of them so Steve can hold onto Bucky’s arm for support. It would make more sense to actually be at the barre, but then they couldn’t flirt and touch each other, so Steve has to agree this is much better. “We’ll start real slow, Stevie. Just a plie combination to warm up. You can do that, right?”

 

“I think just about anyone can bend a little and stand up straight again, Buck.” Steve rolls his eyes, but follows along. It’s not so hard. Bucky’s taking them through a modified version of what the company usually warms up with, so Steve can more or less keep up, even if the moves are foreign. 

 

“Not everyone,” Bucky reminds him. “Besides, just ‘cause it’s simple don’t make it any less dancing. You think I showed up to class one day and just started doing pirouettes and grand jetes? Nah, I started with plies. Just like everyone else. And you’re doing great. Tendus now, okay?”

 

Steve knows, of course, that Bucky’s only saying this to be nice, because they’ve been out on a few dates and Bucky’s flirting and flattering like a good boyfriend should. Are they boyfriends yet? Probably not. Steve’s probably getting ahead of himself. Still, Bucky’s being nice like a decent person, so it doesn’t mean all that much if he says Steve’s actually got a nice pointe or that it’s fine if they have to slow the tempo because Steve’s getting out of breath, they’ll just call it an adagio. It’s awfully sweet, but the whole thing feels like some silly game to get Steve to like him more, and he’s not too sure how he feels about that. 

 

When they cambre and Bucky uses the chance to steal a kiss, Steve decides it’s not so bad.

 

“See,” Bucky says, when he’s helped Steve up onto a farce of a passe on half point and is turning him slowly, like he does his partners en pointe sometimes, “it’s not about how far you can stretch or how many turns you can do. It’s about taking the risk to do it and being confident while you do.”

 

“Must be why someone cocky like you does it so well, huh?” Steve asks. 

 

“Exactly!” Bucky laughs. “How about you bring me ‘round to your painting sessions so I can get a look how it’s done and I’ll bring you here Sunday mornings to teach you some moves? You can dance around with me a bit, instead of always sitting and watching.”

 

Steve puts his foot down finally and turns to face Bucky, putting his hands on his shoulders. It’s an absolutely ridiculous idea, because Steve’s never going to be a dancer just like Bucky probably won’t pick up a pencil tomorrow and end up getting hired to draw comics with Steve. But it’s fun and silly and Bucky doesn’t even make him feel like he’s defective for stumbling about like a toddler sometimes. Steve nods and leans up to kiss him. 

 

“Sure thing, Buck. Sounds like a plan.”

 

——

 

Steve’s never a very good dancer, just like Bucky never really developed the best eye for color and framing. But every Sunday, even after the painting is done and even after they’ve moved in together, Bucky and Steve head down to the studio by themselves, where Steve will sketch him for a bit and then Bucky will guide Steve through a few simple lessons. 

 

Steve might sometimes resent things he’d missed out on growing up, but now he’s sure he’s come along to it at just the right time. 

**Author's Note:**

> for questions, prompts, or chatting I can be found on tumblr at [sebbym17](http://sebbym17.tumblr.com/)


End file.
